Hunting Ghosts
by Chickwriter
Summary: A beloved four-legged friend returns from war, scarred inside and out, and Mary is determined to fix him.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Okay, so yeah, I have other things to write, but this was something I was thinking about for one of them, but it felt too big to do inside something else. Probably inspired by too much War Horse & Flambards when I was younger. Horse-mad girls... _

* * *

><p>The surprise arrived four days after the funeral, and Robert was not quite sure how to present it to Mary. In the end, he simply asked her to join him to see Lynch who had a question about one of the old farm horses and to dress for muck. It had begun as a whim, but had become a reality, and he hoped it would be welcome.<p>

She came downstairs in tall riding boots and breeches, an old hunting shirt, and jacket and he smiled. "I will never get used to trousers on you," he said. "Or any woman."

"You said muck. I don't feel like wearing a skirt," she muttered. Her face was grey and her eyes were dark, smudged by sleeplessness and his heart sank for her. He knew what had broken her, but he did not think he could fix it, and he prayed this would help.

Lynch was in the yard when they arrived, a fearful look on his face. "M'lady. M'lord, I don't know if this is a good idea."

"What do you.." An animal scream burst from the stable, and a terrible banging. "Good God, what is that?"

"That's him, m'lord. That's Diamond."

"Diamond?" Mary's voice shook. "You found Diamond, Papa? How? The War Office knew where he was?"

"They knew where his unit was, and where the horses that survived were brought. We got lucky. Lynch, what's wrong with him?"

"What's wrong with him is what's wrong with half the folk and creatures that came back from France," he said. "He sees things. He's not himself." A sickening crunch sounded from the stable. "There goes the door," Lynch muttered. "Wait. M'lady, don't!"

But Mary ignored him, walking past them both and ducking into the stable. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark. "Diamond?" Her voice was high and soft, much like the one she had used from the first moment she'd set eyes on him, when she was but thirteen years old and he was only three. "Diamond?"

A great whuffle came from the far box, and she could see the damage to the wooden door. "Diamond, you silly boy. What did you do?" She walked up slowly, snatching a chunk of turnip out of the treat box. "Silly Diamond."

But when she saw him, her heart fell. It was her Diamond, but it wasn't her silly boy, her companion afield, her steady friend. He had been purchased by the Army for the war, and she had cried bitterly when he was taken, believing she would never see him again. Yet here he was, and she began to cry again. He was thinner, his black coat rough and scratched, tears from barbed wire across his chest, burns and scuffs marring him, his beautiful tail and mane in tangled ruins. It was his eyes that made her cry, however, the spirit gone, the pride and calm replaced by fear as he cowered in the corner of the box. "Diamond," she whispered, and held out her hand, flat, with the turnip on it.

He did not move, regarding her with a rolling eye. "Diamond," she said again.

Slowly, he inched across the box. She noted his legs were still good, and the hooves intact. "There's my boy," she whispered as his head came up and he lipped the turnip from her hand. "Hello, my boy."

His great head suddenly pushed forward and against her chest, and he stood, blowing, pressing his head into her as if to hide his eyes. "Shh," she crooned as she stroked his ears. "See? It's all right."

She did not leave him until nightfall. She allowed no one else to groom or feed him, taking guidance from Lynch as he whispered instructions on how to detangle the tail, how to scrape off the matted hair, how to clean his feet, and Diamond let her do it all as he slowly relaxed, slowly seemed to remember where he was.

* * *

><p>It took two days of patient cajoling and apple bribes for him to come out of the box and accept a bit, and two more to realize he would not tolerate the sidesaddle, possibly because of the burn high on his withers. The old racing saddle was cut differently enough that it did not touch the scar, and Mary was pleased to see him take it so easily. She ignored the warnings of Lynch and her father and brought Diamond out to the small paddock to walk him around, secretly proud he did not flinch when she finally sat astride on his back. "Walk on," she said softly.<p>

He did walk, and trot, and even cantered gently, tucking his head nicely the way he always did when they hacked out before hunting season. She had not ridden astride since she was a small child, and it took some getting used to, but it was as if they were learning together again, much as they did when they were both young. It soothed the fierce ache inside her, and she hoped it was doing the same for him.

For days, she exercised him in the paddock, until one Wednesday morning, unusually chilly for May, she decided he should see where he used to hunt, and took him off on an easy canter over the grounds. She laughed at his ears, twitching happily as he went for the first fence. She wanted to clap when he cleared the bushes at the stream bed the way he used to, leaving others behind to circle in defeat. He whinnied finally, as he used to, a sound so ordinary and cheerful she nearly cried. They crossed the corner of Skelton Park, rode along the edge of Wharton, and suddenly they were at a long gravel drive and she looked up to see the imposing pale stone of her new home, come July, once she married Richard.

She slowed him to a walk as they came up on the house, all but finished now, and shut up tight. The inside staff would not start for another month. Carson had, in a fit of remorse, privately vetted the butler and housekeeper himself, and she felt at least they weren't going to work against her. The outside staff was already at work replanting the grounds, and she steered Diamond around toward the back, where the stables and yards were, to show him the place he would soon be calling home. They were beautiful, she remembered, as impressive as the house, and she found herself looking a little forward to living here, regardless of what else it might bring.

But at the first step inside the empty stable yard, Diamond stopped. She squeezed his sides. "Walk on," she said firmly, but he dug in his heels. His head looked about wildly, his ears flat back. "Diamond, it's all right," she said softly, and reached up to pat his neck, but he shied sideways and began to back away. _Ghosts,_ she thought to herself. _He's seeing ghosts here, just as I did. _

A loud noise, like a shot, rang through the air, and Mary found herself lifted out of the saddle as Diamond bucked and screamed, the sound ripping through her as she instinctively grabbed at his mane and pulled herself back into the saddle just as Diamond took off and ran. Not like a hunter, not like the Diamond she had known for ten years, but like the wild animals he used to chase. She lost control, the bit firmly between his teeth as he lengthened his stride, thundering across the grounds. An impossible wall loomed in front of them, and she sawed at his mouth with all her strength, trying to slow him, but he sailed over it, taking her with him, and kept going.

Her eyes burned with the wind driving into them, her boy's tweed cap was gone, and her hair unwound from the tight knot, the braid whipping behind her and all she could do was hold on. He was at a mad gallop now, and she felt sure he would tire, but as the countryside flew past and he ignored her completely, she began to fear he was going to run himself into the ground, and take her with him, and for just a moment, she wanted that, wanted to be flung into the ground, as lifeless and broken as she'd felt for the past weeks, ever since the funeral that had killed any chance at love, to take away this insane ache and need for _him_, this desperation that she was slowly learning to box away, to hide forever from the world.

But then, as another wall rose in front of them and he jumped it cleanly, she felt the life come back into her, felt fear and fury, joy and confusion, felt every emotion rake at her as the village appeared on the horizon, and just as she had always done, she pulled herself back from darkness.

She was never down for long, she thought, as the gravel turned to pavement, and Diamond's hooves clattered down the village road, toward a place she did not want to go, but she could not stop him.

* * *

><p>He was staring at the table in the garden, remembering tea and cakes, simple times, when he heard the commotion, the cries of "Look out!" and the sound of horse's hooves echoing against the stone buildings. He turned to see a black horse, marked with sweat and screaming in fear, skidding to a stop in front of the church. The horse suddenly spun on his heels and the rider was flung off balance, her hands catching the mane and as he reared slightly, she pulled her feet free and swung off him, light as a cat, never letting go as she landed and yanked his head down. "Diamond," he heard her call, and the great horse stopped, burying his head into the woman's chest, like a child seeking comfort.<p>

He found himself walking across the road, toward the two, even as the others moved back from the heels that still kicked back, even as the horse butted against the woman, and he realized with a start and a crushing sensation in his chest that it was Mary.

"It's all right," she whispered as he approached. "It's perfectly all right, Diamond."

"That's Diamond?"

Mary froze at the voice, as broken and soft as the last time she had heard it. "Papa found him through the War Office." She finally looked at Matthew, at the hollow, lifeless eyes, as sleepless as her own. "He sees ghosts, I think."

Matthew regarded the scene in front of him and felt that great disorienting sense of going back in time. He was standing not fifteen yards from where he'd watched her ride away seven years ago, and she was stroking the neck of the same creature who had first brought her to his door, yet everything had changed. This was no docile lady's hunter anymore, but a skittish, scarred war horse, who had likely watched his fellow animals die in front of him, beside him, hearing their screams and yet had forced himself forward, just as he had. As William had.. as millions of others had. The horse's great dark eyes were rolling white, sweat foaming and dripping off his shoulder

"He's terrified," Matthew said. "Why are you doing this to him?"

"Doing what?" she asked.

"Making him do things he doesn't want to do."

"I'm trying to bring him back," she said. "He's got to know that it's all right. That's it's all going to be all right."

"But what if it isn't all right?"

"What else would it be, Matthew? What's scaring him isn't true anymore, and I don't care what it takes, he's going to know that. He's going to feel safe again. He's going to be happy again."

"What if he can't be happy?"

"For God's sake, Matthew, he's alive. That should be enough to start." She pulled Diamond's head around and climbed up on the wall to mount him, and he was struck suddenly by her clothes, by the fact she was in breeches and not a skirt, the fact that she was so physically sure of herself as she swung onto Diamond's back and sat down hard as he started to dance. "Stop it," she said softly, but the sound brooked no disobedience, and he stood, still blowing from his race across the countryside, but calmer than before.

They stood silently for what felt like hours, the only sound the horse's breath, before he reached out and touched Diamond's nose, stroking it for a moment.

"Mary?"

"Yes?"

"The breeches..." He paused, and for a moment, a ghost of a smile played around his mouth. "Just don't cut your hair."

"Damn you, Matthew Crawley." Her voice was sweet and calm. "Damn you for being an unfeeling, self-righteous bastard."

His head flung up at that, stared at her face, seeing a kind of fury on that face he had never known from her before, and again the voice was sweet, in order not to scare the horse. "Damn you, Matthew. For all of it."

And with the tiniest of movements, she made Diamond walk away, slowly, and she did not look back to see the shock on Matthew's face, or the small spark of life that came back to his pale eyes as Diamond broke into a slow trot and she rose into hunting position as she headed for home.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you again for your reviews and comments. The teases for the Christmas special gave me the perfect end for this story, so here goes. I don't own them. Carnival and Julian Fellowes own these lovely people. I mean no harm._

* * *

><p><strong>Hunting Ghosts 22**

The invitation was open-ended, but after weeks of an empty chair at dinner, no one at Downton expected Matthew to come to dinner. Yet there he was with his mother, dinner-jacketed and if not entirely cheerful, at least sociable enough to make quiet conversation before dinner about the conference in Paris. There was another empty chair at the table that evening, at which Matthew kept glancing, a tic which everyone noticed. Finally Isobel, who knew full well her son wouldn't, asked where Mary was that evening.

"The stables," Cora muttered. "With that horse."

Robert sighed. "It's her old hunter. It was a stroke of luck to find him. He was sold to the cavalry, and the War Office was able to track down where the horses went after the war. I thought it might..." He broke off. "Anyway, she's done wonders with him. He's almost his old self again."

"Did his old self run away with her and throw her?" Matthew's voice was hard.

Robert's head jerked up. "What?"

"He tossed her off in front of the church today. I don't think he's exactly a safe mount for her." He went back to eating, his eyes on his plate.

Cora put down her fork. "Robert, I told you."

Robert shook his head. "She said nothing when I saw her. She couldn't have been hurt."

* * *

><p>Everything hurt, even her hair. Every muscle in her back and legs felt stretched and bruised, her jaw was sore from clenching it in fear, and her arms... if someone came and broke them off at that moment, Mary wouldn't miss them. She wanted a hot bath so badly she could feel the steam and smell the new salts she'd ordered from London, even in the midst of the damp straw of the stable, but every time she tried to leave, Diamond would stamp and kick ferociously, and she was afraid he'd hurt himself. She'd already begged off dinner, and now she wasn't entirely sure she was going to make it to bed tonight. Diamond was genuinely spooked, flattening his ears at anyone who came in, baring his teeth and snapping at Lynch for absolutely no reason. Mary had fed him herself, walked him while the stable boy mucked out the box, and now, cooled and sheeted, she was hoping he'd calm down enough to sleep so she could sneak away. That being said, she wasn't sure she'd be able to move.<p>

It started to rain, and she groaned, because even as a young horse, thunder had spooked him. "It's too early for that kind of storm," she said softly as the first roll began and Diamond whinnied nervously.

* * *

><p>They had not spoken since the funeral, and Robert was pleased that Matthew had come to dinner, but now, sitting in the dining room with port and cigars, he was reminded again of what had happened and what Matthew had lost. He seemed to take no pleasure in either the cigar or the port, mechanically partaking of both as he listened to Robert talk about developments on the farms.<p>

"I'm glad we went with the smaller harvesters, considering the reduction in market," he was saying when a clap of thunder seemed to shake Matthew out of his stupor.

"You really think it's a good idea for Mary to be out in this?" Matthew asked.

"The stables do have a roof, Matthew," Robert quipped, but stopped as Matthew actually glared at him. "Matthew, you know as well as I do Mary does what she wants. He came back skittish today and she wanted to calm him down."

"He could have k... !" The port sloshed out of the glass as he slammed it down. "I'm sorry... " He did not finish.

Robert's heart broke a little then, broke for Mary who loved this man and broke for Matthew who was so wracked with guilt over Lavinia's death that he could not see the path to peace and forgiveness in front of him, never mind the fact he loved Mary. It would take time for him to see it, Robert thought, but there was no reason the family couldn't push it along a little bit. "I hope someone remembered to bring her some dinner," Robert muttered as he stood up. "Shall we join the ladies?"

Matthew stood slowly. "Shouldn't someone check about that? For her, I mean? Make sure she has some dinner?"

Robert nodded solemnly. "Someone should ask Carson."

* * *

><p>The rain was incessant and the thunder did not let up. Diamond was still antsy, shying away from things that weren't there. "Darling boy, please," she said softly. "It's all right." Her hands stroked his neck gently, in the rhythm that used to calm him after a long hunt. "It's perfectly all right."<p>

A door slammed and he jumped. "Damn it," she swore under her breath as he backed away from her. She turned, prepared to unleash hell, and instead was struck dumb. Matthew stood not ten feet away, a small basket in one hand and a dripping umbrella in the other.

"Carson said you didn't have any dinner," he said.

"I didn't," she replied.

He put the basket down on a trunk, and looked past her, nervously. "How's he doing?"

"The same," she said. She looked at the basket, suddenly ravenous. "What is it?"

"I don't know, actually. I asked Carson for something." He leaned on the umbrella as he stepped back from the trunk, watching her as she went into the tack room and washed her hands. Diamond whuffled at her absence and stuck his head over the door, regarding first Matthew and then his cargo with some interest. "Diamond, no," she said firmly as the horse's neck stretched toward the basket. She heard Matthew chuckle as she dried her hands. "He's notorious for food theft," she said softly as she walked back in and lifted the cloth. "He once pulled a sandwich out of my hand at the hunt. Made Billy Russell laugh.." She broke off and lifted a small plate out of the basket. "Sit, please," she said. "The trunk's not comfortable, but it's better than standing."

Matthew sank down on it, relieved to take the pressure off his still-sensitive back and watched as she ate the sandwiches and tart Carson had packed himself. She was filthy, covered in dust from the stables and mud from the horse, her hair still in the loose braid of this afternoon, and yet he could not think of anyone more lovely than Mary at that moment.

She was touched by the thoughtfulness of the old butler, and was amused that he'd put two glasses in with the small flask of wine. _Oh, Carson,_ she thought to herself. She poured both and held one out to Matthew, and he took it after a slight hesitation. "What shall we drink to?" he asked.

"Hot baths," she said. He laughed, but just then the thunder rumbled and the smile fell off his face as he shuddered, which did not escape Mary's eye. Diamond let out a terrified sound and backed into the wall, his hooves thudding against the wood as he kicked. "Stop it," she said, firmly, and within a few seconds, the large black head was hanging over the stall door again, watching her eat, with a look of hope that made Matthew smile again.

"What made him run like that today?" Matthew's voice startled her and she looked up mid-bite.

"Haxby," she murmured. "I took him around to the stables, but he wouldn't set foot in the yard."

"You said it was ghosts," he replied.

"I can't blame him," she said softly, and broke off a piece of bread for Diamond who whuffled happily at the treat. "That's all I see at Haxby. Ghosts, history, memories... when we first went to look at it, all I could think about was Billy's tenth birthday party on that lawn. His tutor brought out the cricket bats and..." She grinned. "I beat Billy at cricket and my governess was utterly appalled and Mamma scolded me when I came home. When Papa found out about it, I was called to the library and I thought he would punish me too. He gave me a guinea."

"What did he say?"

She gave Diamond the rest of the bread. "He told me it wasn't polite to beat boys at cricket, but he was glad I could."

"Did you ever beat him again?"

"I never played again." The tart was wonderful, one of Mrs. Patmore's apple-y, treacle-y things that she made when it was just family at the house, an inelegant piece of pastry that nevertheless tasted like sheer heaven. "Please tell me you ate some of this."

"Are you sharing?"

"No," she said. "But you should have had some when you had the chance."

"I did, as a matter of fact," he replied. The thunder rolled again, but before Diamond could react, her voice rang out.

"Diamond!" He stopped before he started, his feet shifting nervously, but he did not kick. "Good boy," she murmured, and gave him a carrot.

"I don't think it's really safe for you to ride him," Matthew said. Her eyes flicked to him, and he leaned forward. "Shouldn't someone go with you, in case he does something like that again?"

"Are you offering?"

"No," he said. "I can't ever ride again. Not a horse, not a motorcycle, as badly as I want one, and not even my bicycle."

"Oh." Her eyes met his, and for the first time in weeks, they really looked at each other. "I'm sorry, Matthew."

"Don't be," he said. "I can walk, and I'm far better off than I thought I'd be. Better off than most."

"No, I don't mean that." She put down the plate. "I do mean that, but I mean this afternoon. I'm sorry I said that to you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. What I said in the.." He could not finish the sentence and she nodded. "Mary, I didn't mean it. It was... I don't blame you. I only blame myself."

"You shouldn't," she said. "But I know nothing I say will change that."

The truth of what she said hung in the air as she went back to eating. He watched her, marveling at the fact she wasn't wrong, that she knew him so well. She cleaned the plate of crumbs and replaced it in the basket. "I'm tired," she said suddenly, and he stood up.

"I'll take you back to the house," he began, but she held up her hand.

"I'm tired of people not meaning what they say and then apologizing for it. I just want people to say what they mean for once." She looked up at him. "Can we do that? You and I?"

"Be honest?" he muttered. "Can we?"

She stood up and turned back to Diamond, who seemed perfectly content now, munching on hay and blinking sleepily. "I think we've known each other long enough to stop with the eggshells and such."

"So did you mean what you said when you called me a cold, unfeeling bastard?"

She smiled at him. "It was unfeeling, self-righteous bastard, Matthew, and yes, I did."

He supposed he should be offended, angry, or try to deny it, but the truth was, he had been unfeeling, saddling her with all his guilt at Lavinia's grave and he'd been nothing but self-righteous about a great many things. One thing, however, he refused to take. "I'll have you know my parents were married when I was born." It made her laugh, and for that he was grateful. "And I meant what I said, Mary. Don't cut your hair."

She laughed harder. "The deal is that you say what you mean, Matthew. It doesn't mean I'm going to do what you say." She gave Diamond a final pat. "Let's go. I think the storm has stopped."

It had, and the fresh, wet smell that greeted them as they crossed the threshold into the yard was invigorating. Mary paused several times to listen, but Diamond was quiet, and they made their way slowly to the house in companionable silence.

"Will you ride tomorrow?" he asked as she stepped in the door.

"If I can move," she replied, and he smiled.

"Stop by the house for tea if you do," he said. "Mother would like to see you, and I'm sure she's got some cure for the pain."

"Only if you come to dinner." She paused. "And thank you for dinner tonight, Matthew."

"You're welcome. Good night, Mary."

"Good night, Matthew." She leaned up and kissed him gently on the cheek, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to return it, just as it felt like the most natural thing in the world to smile happily at each other before she went inside.

And as a horse dozed in a stable, the ghosts in its memory all but gone, a man and a woman looked to the sky through windows in separate homes and acknowledged the feelings they'd ignored, pushed away, or lamented over the past six years.

They were friends again, Mary thought, and if he could give her no more, she told herself she would be content with that.

They were friends again, Matthew thought, and if he could have no more from her, he told himself he would be content with that, as long as he knew she was happy.

If she wasn't, he told himself as he closed his eyes, he'd have something to say.

**FIN**


End file.
